Pig

A sad, darkly funny, and downright weird contemplation of what's important in life, featuring Nic Cage's most sobering performance in years.

Nicolas Cage is a man with a lot of different connotations to his name. Older people might think of him as a tenured, respected actor—after all, he is well-awarded, with an Oscar (and two noms) to his name, and has worked on many iconic films and with many revered filmmakers across 40 years.

People closer to my age, and especially younger, tend to see him as this bizarre monolith of ridiculous overacting, on account of his penchant over the last two decades for either not knowing how to pick roles, or just not being picky in the first place. His trademark expressionist style has been, more and more frequently, applied to mediocre (or worse) B-movies not worthy of or befitting it, resulting in him being known by some as “The King of So-Bad-It’s-Good.” Occasionally, he strikes gold, collaborating with a visionary filmmaker whose unique style suits Cage’s vibrant spirit, and they create something singular and special, like Panos Cosmatos’ 2018 fever-dream revenge flick Mandy.

This is always a wonderful treat, but it leaves Cage naysayers with the plausible deniability that, “well, this movie’s crazy just matched his crazy; that’s the only reason it worked. He’s not really a great actor.”

But then, once every several years, Cage takes on a role that puts those accusations to rest. He’ll find a somber, meditative story, like 2013’s Joe, that lets him flex his skills as a more understated performer, affirming all of us who knew it and shutting up those who denied it that, at the end of the day, Cage can do it all.

Well, it’s about that time again. And it’s Pig.

Looking like a dustier and more grizzled Balthazar from The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, Cage leads this story about Robin (or “Rob”), an Oregonian truffle hunter who, after being ambushed and beaten at his secluded forest home, has his invaluable foraging pig kidnapped. Enraged, Robin returns to his distant past in Portland’s fine dining arena in order to find out who did it and retrieve her.

On paper, it sounds very John Wick: man seeks bloodthirsty revenge for crimes against his pet. But Pig really has more in common with Lynne Ramsay’s You Were Never Really Here. The violence is sparse, and never reveled in the way it would have been in an action film. This is a mostly quiet, contemplative story of trauma, mourning, and ultimately, passion.

“We don’t get a lot of things to really care about,” Robin says at one point to a misguided, uppity chef; a simple plea to remember what he truly loves and commit to it. Pig is filled with terse lines like these, anti-Sorkinesque nuggets of pure screewriting gold, each one delivered with a dry, cold conviction by Cage, whose eyes seem to be reliving all the dark memories of Robin’s past in almost every moment.

Robin is a man of little doubt about who he is or what the world means to him. Fine dining is bullshit, but food—great food—is love. And love is life.

He’s joined on his journey back to the city by Amir (Alex Wolff), a restaurant owner and frequent buyer of Robin’s truffles. Rob effectively forces Amir, at the threat of no more truffles, into being his ride around town while he questions old contacts about his pig. Amir is a privileged weasel, as all upscale restaurant owners apparently are, but he has ambitions for greatness, and his weaseliness is not entirely his own fault. His father is effectively the fine cuisine kingpin of Portland, and apparently never had much time or interest in loving or emotionally supporting his son.

Together, Rob and Amir explore the city and their pasts, opening new and old doors—both literal and figurative—along the way. In his feature debut, writer-director Michael Sarnoski has crafted a grimy underworld beneath Portland, one that includes a partially buried and abandoned hotel that serves as a fight club for food service workers, and a network of diabolical chefs and owners who know, respect, and fear one another, like warring mob bosses. It’s a little bit like the complex assassin community of John Wick, but more suggested than articulated.

These bizarre and vague wrinkles in Pig’s world put that much more focus on the small-scale story being told. As a viewer, you hug the back of Robin’s coat for safety as he casually, confidently navigates the shoddy underground lairs of skeezy restaurant networkers; and you relate to Amir’s confused and shocked reactions, as he’s only slightly more keyed-in to the dark, enigmatic underbelly of the restaurant world than you are.

But Sarnoski is far more interested in Rob’s and Amir’s personal journeys than he is exploring or commenting on the Portland restaurant industry. Pig highlights the grave losses of its two leads, and pushes them forward on their journey to peace. It could be argued that Amir’s story is a bit underdeveloped, but he’s mainly there to support Robin (the main focus), and doesn’t really eat up much time. The film does most of its best messaging through Rob, his past traumas, and his willingness to move through life the way he knows how, ignoring the judgments of others.

The finale of the film feels almost a little bit too easily reached, like there weren’t enough obstacles placed in our characters’ paths toward the summit. If I had to lobby a significant complaint against this film, it’s that, frankly, not enough happens to optimize the tension of the latter-third conflict. It certainly doesn’t “drop the ball,” but it feels less like rising action and climax, and more like a very even-keel story all the way through, with a strong, bold period stamped on the end. It’s not a bad way to tell a story or make a point, by any means, but I have to wonder if that effects its rewatchability.

However, I’m very glad to have experienced Pig. I’d be interested to know the perspective of someone with a passion and career in the culinary arts, because I could see this being rather cathartic. Personally, I was still able to latch on to Cage’s magnificently stoic performance and Sarnoski’s ability to foggily depict the bleak, despite being a relative ignoramus about fine dining.

This is one of the best films of the year so far, and I’m glad it stars Nicolas Cage. These days, the man needs some good punches once in awhile. I also look forward to Sarnoski’s trajectory from here. Hold your loved ones (and your pigs) closely.